


Five Times Merlin and Arthur Slept Together Platonically, and One Time They Didn't

by Gracefully



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracefully/pseuds/Gracefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title is pretty self-explanatory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Merlin and Arthur Slept Together Platonically, and One Time They Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, first fanfiction posted on AO3! Thank you to caffeinated tea and Pandora for seeing this through with me.

I

The first time is pure accident. Sure, Merlin’s thought about it plenty, and maybe even fantasized a few times, but he never thought that the first time would quite be like this.  
The air is cool and still, dusk just beginning to settle her murky fingers through the waning sunlight. It’s late June, and though it is far warmer than the previous winter, it’s still chilly, and Merlin shivers lightly inside his thin coat. The knights are setting up their bedrolls around the central fire that Merlin has so painstakingly gathered wood for.

The layout for camp is always the same; fire in the middle, horses tied to trees, creating a perimeter, the knights scattered in some random formation around the fire, and then Merlin and Arthur. Always next to one another, sometimes even a little ways away from the knights.

Luckily, the knights stopped their friendly teasing a few months in, and no one has had a problem with their closeness since. Merlin’s even heard Gwaine mutter, “I wish my servants were as dedicated as Merlin. I would never have to worry about anything, ever.” Arthur had just laughed, and said that it sounded better in ideas, but he thanked Merlin for his work the very next day. Hmm. Not as much of a prat as he would have others believe.

Merlin busies himself with preparing dinner while Arthur catches a rabbit, which he presents to Merlin with a mock, low bow. Merlin wrinkles his nose and takes it, holding it from only his pointer finger and thumb.

“My, how can I ever repay you, m’lord? You know how I love dead animals.” Merlin deadpans, pulling out a knife to begin the grisly task of skinning the rabbit. Arthur smirks, but seeing Merlin’s actual displeasure, he takes the task from him and sends Merlin to fetch more firewood, even though they have plenty.

As Merlin is not one to refuse Arthur’s acts of kindness, he happily flees the scene.

When Merlin returns, he cooks dinner for the knights, and the six of them eat dinner together, around the crackling fire as night settles in around them. A few bawdy stories later, the men bid one another goodnight, and retreat to their respective bedrolls.

As Merlin lies fully clothed under the stars, he realized just how close he is to the prince. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see that the moonlight has turned Arthur’s fair hair silver, has made his skin glow, luminescent. Merlin swallows thickly, pushing ideas and foolish fantasies out of his head.

The prince has always held a place in the warlock’s heart. It had started simply, a smile shared between them or another near-death experience. In the end, though, Merlin knew that he would never leave the prince’s side. Sometimes it made his chest ache and his magic flux inside of him, the reality of his helplessness in this situation. He could, however, enjoy these small moments when they came.

The last thing he saw before sleep conquered him was the silver of Arthur’s ring gleaming in the moonlight.

 

The first thing Merlin noticed was that breathing was difficult. It wasn't a function of his lungs; it was a heavy weight on his stomach. Blinking groggily, he looked down and realized that Arthur’s head was snuggled comfortably in his stomach, and the slumbering prince was sprawled over Merlin’s lower half. Merlin realized, with distant surprise, that his fingers were threaded through Arthur’s hair, as if Merlin was pulling the prince closer.

He carefully untangled his fingers from the prince’s hair. Merlin slowly sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows, trying not to wake Arthur. By the light filtering in through the trees around them, Merlin guessed that it was slightly after dawn. He scanned the central sleeping area, but luckily all the knights were still asleep. Then he noticed that Gwaine’s bedroll was empty.

Merlin felt Arthur stir and looked down in alarm, silently praying for the prince to go back to sleep. Luckily, all the prince did was mumble in his sleep and snake both arms around Merlin’s middle, so that Merlin was properly fastened in place. Merlin had seen this maneuver used on pillows of Arthur’s. He was simultaneously not amused and blushing slightly, an odd mix of annoyed and pleased. Arthur did that to him, quite a lot if Merlin wanted to be honest.

The prince woke some short number of minutes later, blinking his eyes and shifting around. He froze when his eyes met Merlin’s. Merlin stared back at him, and Arthur’s arms left his waist. “Good morning.” Merlin said quietly, shifting underneath the prince.

“Good morning to you too.” Arthur replied softly, and even being quiet, Merlin immediately noticed how sleep-rough his voice was, and had to mentally restrain himself from shivering. They continued to stare at one another, until a snapping branch right next to them startled them both.

“Good morning, lovebirds.” Gwaine said, stepping out of the forest. He carried an armful of firewood, and had two squirrels slung over his shoulders. Before either Merlin or Arthur could say anything, Gwaine continued, “While you all were napping, I got up early, collected firewood, and caught breakfast.”

Merlin glanced at Arthur and joked, to alleviate any tension, “And they say that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” Arthur chortled into Merlin’s stomach, and Merlin grinned in response. Gwaine huffed indignantly, but he was smiling as well.

The warlock and the prince got up, ate breakfast, cleaned up camp, and left on their horses’ backs.

  
Neither of them speak about it.

II

Somehow, Merlin and Arthur’s lives are at risk again. It’s pouring rain, a steady slew of water shooting out of the sky, mucking up roads and overflowing rivers. Much like their riders, the horses are tired, soaking wet, and hungry. The thick, supposedly waterproof cloaks that Merlin grabbed on their way out of the castle are heavy with moisture, soaking into Merlin’s previously dry clothes. His breeches are past drying, and neither the prince nor the warlock had had time in the morning to grab extra clothes.  
They slow down long enough for Merlin to shout over the driving rain, “What’s our plan?” to Arthur, riding beside him.

Arthur leans over and shouts back, “We’ll rendezvous with Leon and Elyan about twenty miles north of Kaliff. They’ll ride with us to Duggan’s cave, where Percival and Gwaine will wait, along with all the knights they can muster up.”

Merlin rolls his eyes lightly, feeling water dripping off of his neck. “I meant for tonight.”

Arthur looks ahead, at the distant, faint lights. He points with one rain-soaked arm. “That town up there, Kaliff, probably won’t recognize us. Hopefully, we can get a room there and dry off. Maybe we’ll even be able to sleep for a few hours.” His voice sounds pathetically hopeful, and Merlin sighs at their situation.

As they ride closer, Merlin’s hopes sink. There’s one inn, which has extinguished their lanterns, all patrons shuttling their windows and hoping for dry weather. They dismount at the stable, leaving their horses to nibble on the damp hay in the rack.

They carefully make their way around to the front, where Arthur puts his shoulder to the door and shoves the swollen wood hard enough for it to swing on its rusty hinges. The resulting shrieking noise is enough to make Merlin’s hands fly to his ears, and enough to wake the man sleeping at the front desk. He jerks awake, groping for a knife in his pockets, before he sees Merlin and Arthur.

Merlin hopes they are wet enough and dirty enough to be unrecognizable. The cloaks help, but Merlin wonders if they’ll still be spotted.

“Please, sir, we’re travelers, and we need a place to stay for the night, just to ride out the storm.” Merlin sends a pleading, helpless look at the innkeeper.

The innkeeper, a burly, mustached man, glances between them. “I've only got one room for the night.” He says in a thick accent. “As long as you boys don’t mind sharin’ a room, we've got no problem.”

“Thank you, sir,” Arthur sighs, stepping forward. The innkeeper, brandishing an unlit lantern, leads them to the fire, where the plucks a lit twig from the fire, expertly dropping it in and setting the dim fire ablaze. He hands the lit lantern to Merlin, and leads them down to the end of the hallway, where an open doorway stands.

“I’m not goin’ to ask you boys to pay me, ‘cause to make you pay for this room would make me a cheat. Which I for one isn't. Goodnight, now.” With that, he left the duo at the door to their room. Merlin entered first, hanging the lantern on the hook by the door.

A quick scan of the room resulted in the following: 1. there was no fireplace, 2. the small window had no glass, or shutters, meaning that 3. the floor and the nearby walls were soaked, along with the bottom corner of the bed.

No way was either of them sleeping on the floor. There was one rickety chair beside the bed, but Arthur strode forward and hung his soaking wet cloak from it, therefore soaking the chair. Merlin followed suit. He toed off his boots and socks, placing them in the driest corner of the room. He glanced over and saw Arthur removing his wet shirt, and his wet pants, leaving the prince in only undershorts. Arthur glanced up and met Merlin’s eyes, silent tension fizzling through the air between them.

Arthur pulled aside the covers and climbed into bed. Merlin moved to do the same on the other side, but Arthur said warningly, “Merlin, I will not share a bed with you if you are in you sopping wet clothes.” Merlin simply nodded, moving back towards the chair. He faced the other way and took off his shirt, feeling and ignoring the prince’s eyes on his exposed back. He used the chair to balance as he pulled off his trousers, shivering in only his undershorts.

He quickly made his way to the bed and climbed in, only to realize just how small the bed really was. Arthur was on his stomach, his entire left arm hanging over the side of the bed, and Merlin still couldn't fit without touching the prince in some way or another. He lay on his side, shivering with the deep, aching cold that driving rain induced, facing away from the prince.

He saw, more than felt Arthur’s miraculously warm arm encircle his chest, before he was drawn back, so that he was flush against the prince’s side. “I don’t want to get hypothermia in my sleep, Merlin.” Arthur said sleepily, keeping his arm around Merlin’s chest.

Being Gaius’s student for as long as he had been, Merlin knew that when in the wild, you treated potential hypothermia with a warm fire and body heat. No warm fire, hence the sharing body heat.

Merlin felt his body relax, his eyes drift closed and his hand come up to clasp Arthur’s wrist. He used that handhold to turn, so that he was pressed up against Arthur all the way from his neck to his knee. It was surprisingly intimate, but Merlin couldn't find it in himself to care. Given the way Arthur flipped on his side and brought his other arm around Merlin’s waist and tucked Merlin’s head underneath his chin, he didn't care either.

  
When Merlin woke up, he realized that not only was he dry, he was blissfully warm as well.

III

The winter has just barely relinquished its control of the weather, ceasing the snowfall for a whole two days. The thick gray clouds overhead let barely any light in, and the forest is stuck in perpetual twilight. Nights are dark as soot, and without the moon or stars to guide you, the knights become lost easily, and are just as easily irritated. Merlin stays quiet, just to the edge of their procession.

They are all laden with furs, breath creating clouds of vapor in the still air. The animals do not show themselves, and stay hidden in their warm dens, out of the path of the prince and his knights.

While Merlin dislikes the cold, he has always had an appreciation of the forest when it is coated in a thick layer of snow. The sounds are muffled, the air is clear and crisp, and it has the same feeling as a glass of ice-cold water in summer. Ealdor always got a lot of snow, Camelot gets less, but Merlin still appreciates it. When you live in a giant stone castle, however, you are colder than when you are living in a warm hut.

Merlin smiles slightly at the thought of Ealdor, memories of all the years he lived there springing back to mind. Arthur nudges him lightly on the shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts.” He says quietly, but every sound is amplified in this stone-silent forest. The only noises are of the horses stomping through the snow, leaving a clear trail behind them.

Merlin shrugs, feeling the furs around his shoulders brush the cold tips of his ears, and he huddles down deeper into his own body warmth. “Just thinking about Ealdor, I guess.”

“I won’t be able to spare you for Midwinter, if that’s what you’re thinking, but we can squeeze in a visit sometime next spring.” Merlin turns to stare at Arthur, a happy, incredulous smile on his face. Arthur, glancing over at the warlock, sees his expression and rolls his eyes. “Oh, please Merlin. You know how much I love your mother’s cooking.”

Gwaine speaks up from the middle of the procession, swatting a branch aside. “Aye, and I feel I’ll have to accompany you on that voyage. I never want to miss out on Hunith’s famous meat pies.” He grins, and some of the chill of the weather leaves Merlin’s body.

Eventually, the group decides to stop when they cannot see the trees before them. All the wood around them is soaked, so no one even attempts to make a fire. Instead, they all tie up their horses, set up tents, and go to bed in their respective pairs.

Somehow, Merlin and Arthur end up tangled together in a pile of furs. Arthur’s breath is on Merlin’s neck, and as Merlin adjusts so that his face is protected against the chill, his forehead comes to rest against Arthur’s. For a moment, both simply look into the other’s eyes, blue against blue, as the world closes in around them.

Arthur doesn’t break the perfect silence, but he reaches out with an bare hand and traces Merlin’s jaw line in the near darkness. Merlin, in turn, reaches out and places his hand on Arthur’s bicep, keeping the prince’s hand in place where it has settled on Merlin’s neck.

 

Neither admits anything that night, or the next morning, but the snowy woods around them seem to hold close the secrets that quietly permeate the air. When they return to Camelot, the snow is thick upon the courtyard, but all Arthur does is ruffle Merlin’s hair affectionately, a small, warm smile gracing his face. It makes Merlin feel warm for hours afterward.

IV

His face is deathly pale, mouth parting in a silent exclamation as his eyes dim and glaze over. It’s playing in slow motion, the knife parting through chain mail as easily as an arrow through a flock of doves. Merlin thinks from the back of his mind, where things are manically sane, that a knife shouldn't pierce mail. The strong links should make it impossible, should protect the wearer against attacks of this kind.

The word _should_ keeps coming back up, like a repressed memory.

Merlin can’t move, can’t close his eyes, is forced to watch. He’s forced to watch the small trail of blood, too red to be real, dribble from Arthur’s mouth and drip off of his chin. He’s forced to watch as the shadowy assassin leans forward and pushes on his chest, right where his breastbone is.

The prince, once a symbol of hope and prosperity, topples. He hits the cold marble floor with a dull thud, which Merlin feels to the very depths of his being.

It is the ugliest sound he has ever heard in his life.

Merlin is frozen, watching blood dribble from the slack mouth of the crown prince of Camelot. He can’t scream, but he wants to, he can feel it pushing up his throat and into his mouth, like a gopher pushing its way to the sunlight.

He nearly laughs at the analogy, but as soon as the urge comes, he realizes that hysteria must be setting in, but he can’t do anything to stop this, just like he couldn't stop the death of Arthur—

Merlin jolts awake, immediately reaching for a weapon against invisible assailants. As the panic begins to settle, he looks down and realizes that he is soaked with sweat. His entire shirt is dark, and he feels that his hair is stuck to his forehead. His entire body feels wet, his muscles sore like he just ran to Ealdor and back. He realizes from some distant part of his brain that his hands are shaking.

Gaius enters his room, obviously having just awoken. “Merlin,” he starts, sounding equal parts relieved and worried. “Are you alright, my boy? You were crying out in your sleep.” Merlin wipes a hand across his brow, praying for the desperate tattoo of his heart in his chest to slow and his hands to stop shaking so badly, and why does it feel like there’s a fist around his lungs?

“I’m fine.” He says shakily, stepping out of his bed. “Really, Gaius,” he says when the physician won’t leave his room right away. “It was just a nightmare. I’ll be okay.” Tight-lipped, Gauis nods, but he leaves anyway, gently shutting the door behind him.

Merlin lets out a shaky breath, using his shaky hands to pull off his shirt and put on a new shirt. After a beat, he changes pants as well.

He can’t help reliving the nightmare, seeing Arthur’s blood hitting the marble, forming a pool, the gentle moonlight reflecting off of it. Merlin feels his breaths go shallow as he thinks deeper into the nightmare. It wouldn't be the first time he had visions in his sleep, what if that was one of them? What if Arthur was in trouble now?

Merlin nearly knocks Gaius down as he bolts out of his room. “Where are you going?” Gaius demands.

“I’m going to Arthur, I’ll be back in the morning!” is all Merlin says before he is sprinting barefoot down the silent stone corridors of the castle. The hallways are deserted, all the castle personnel fast asleep in their beds, like the sane individuals they are.

Arthur’s door is shut firmly, as if barricading the prince from the harsh reality of the outside world. Merlin opens it as quickly and as quietly as possible, slipping into Arthur’s warm room. The curtains around the bed are drawn back, and Merlin can see Arthur sleeping soundly within. His chest rises and falls with every breath, and Merlin feels overwhelmed by the relief that he is safe.

Merlin quickly closes the door behind him, but hesitates, uncertain. Should he head back, or should he wake the prince? As it turns out, he doesn't have to decide. Arthur blinks awake and sits up, startling at the sight of Merlin.

“Merlin?” he asks tiredly. “What are you doing in my rooms in the middle of the night?” Merlin falters, his nightmare coming back to him in violent flashes.

“I thought someone was attacking you, sire.” He says quietly. Arthur sits silently for a moment before stepping out of bed and crossing to Merlin.

“Are you alright, Merlin?” he asks quietly. “Your hands are shaking, and you look like you've seen a ghost.” He reaches out and takes Merlin’s thin wrists in his hands, and sure enough, Merlin is trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Merlin ducks his head bashfully. “I had a nightmare, but I’m fine, really. I was just going to head back to the physician’s quarters…” but suddenly the thought of traversing all of that dark castle is daunting, even scary to Merlin, who knows the passageways so intimately. He swallows against the rising panic bubbling in his chest, hand hovering by the door.

“You can stay here, if you want.” Arthur offers softly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid that Merlin would spit the gift back in his face.

Merlin stares at him for a moment, before whispering, “Thank you, Arthur.” Overcome by relief at Arthur being alive, and his generous, welcoming prince, he surges forward and throws his arms around Arthur’s neck, bringing him into a rough yet personal hug. Arthur returns it with fervor, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s rib-cage, hard enough to squeeze the breath out of him. Merlin feels him bury his face in the area between shoulder and neck, and Merlin tightens his grip. Merlin feels his breath shudder out of him in something akin to crying, but he doesn't care. He simply clutches the fabric of Arthur’s shirt, and feels Arthur’s arms tighten around him.

After a moment, Arthur disentangles himself, before leading Merlin to the bed. Merlin climbs under the covers, where it is still warm from Arthur’s body heat, and pulls the covers up to his chest. Arthur begins to move away, saying, “I’ll just be on the rug by the fire if you-“

Merlin’s hand snakes out and grabs the prince’s wrist, asking in a small voice, “Can you stay here, instead?”

Arthur’s features softened, and he asked in response, “That bad, huh?” Merlin swallows against the lump in his throat and nods in response. Arthur walks around to the other side of the bed, where he climbs in and pulls Merlin so that the latter’s back is flush with his chest. “Goodnight, Merlin.” He mumbles against Merlin’s shoulder blade, to which Merlin smiles sleepily, his panic draining away like the floods after a long spring.

When Merlin wakes in the morning, he barely even remembers the nightmare. Then again, having a half-naked prince sprawled on you when you wake up can make you pretty bloody forgetful.

V

It’s another long, boring feast, celebrating some peaceful agreement between two warring provinces or towns or something, held at the castle because it’s a peaceful middle ground. Merlin would have been paying more attention, if he hasn't been so distracted by Lady Maria.

She is the daughter of the lord of the western force, and she held a place at the high table, conveniently right beside Arthur. She had bronze skin, sleek black hair, and bright blue eyes. She wore a low-cut blue dress, something to set off her eyes, Merlin supposed. He wouldn't have had a problem with all this, it wasn't as if she was the first pretty lady to sit beside Arthur, if it wasn't for the fact that she had been looking at him hungrily all through dinner. It escalated, and because Merlin was standing behind Arthur, he could see when she put her hand on his thigh under the table, and leaned over to whisper something to him. Merlin could clearly see the displeasure on Arthur’s face, how he fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably every time she talked to him.

Merlin makes sure she knocks her wine goblet over the next time she reaches for a drink.

It seemed that fate was with him, because when Arthur excused himself early ‘because of a headache’, he whispers, “Help me Merlin, that vapid little arse-kisser is on my tail.” Merlin is surprised at the fearsome scowl on the prince’s face. They hustle out of the Great Hall, and quickly walk down the hallway as far as they can, before they round a corner and flatten to the wall.

“She is one of the worst human beings I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.” Merlin is shocked at Arthur’s words. Before he can ask what she’s done, exactly, Arthur continues in a whisper, “She insulted everyone I call my friend. She called Gwen one of the rudest names for people of her color I have ever heard. She called Morgana a very offensive name for a fancy lady, and said that her face would look better between a man’s thighs.” As Arthur talks, Merlin feels his anger rising, and it only continues as Arthur keeps talking.

“She called Percival ‘one of the dumbest knuckle-heads I've ever seen’, just because he was laughing at one of Gwaine’s jokes. Oh, and she called Gwaine a male version of what she called Morgana. Elyan, same thing as Gwen, and asked me if a bird had made its nest in Leon’s hair.” Merlin scoffs in disgust, just as Arthur says,  
“And then, she had the gall to suggest that we run away together! That’s when I bluntly refused her, but she wouldn't take no for an answer, and then I excused myself.

“Basically, we must do something to put her off forever. I desperately said that I already have a lover, to which she scoffed at. I don’t think she believed me.”

“No offense, sire, but I don’t believe you either.” Merlin teases with a grin. Arthur playfully ruffles his hair, but he is grinning in response.

“Anyway, they’ll be here for another few days, so I have to deter her until then. I’ll have to find someone to pretend to be my lover, let’s see…Morgana? No, Maria knows she’s my father’s ward, so she’s practically my sister. Gwen? No, she and Morgana are together…” Arthur ponders for a moment, but before he can suggest something new, he hears the unmistakable clacks of a woman’s high heels in the stone hallway, followed by Maria’s demanding,

“Arthur, where are you?”

Arthur glances at Merlin sheepishly, whispering, “I hope you don’t hate me for this, Merlin, but we have to pretend.”

Merlin feels his heart jump in his chest at the thought. “What? I mean, I’m okay with it, but-“

“Good, she’s almost here.” With that, Arthur flips over, pinning Merlin to the wall behind him. He surges forward, capturing Merlin’s mouth against his in a desperate, heated kiss. Merlin replies in kind, licking into Arthur’s mouth, circling his arms around his neck. Arthur’s right arm is braced against the wall, but his other hand is knotted in Merlin’s hair, pulling him even closer.

Merlin’s eyes are closed, but he can hear the sounds of indignation and surprise that escape Lady Maria as she comes upon the prince and his manservant.

Meanwhile, Arthur jams his thigh in Merlin’s crotch, startling a gasp from the latter. Arthur just smirks into Merlin’s mouth and continues, despite the strangled insults from Maria. “This isn’t over, Arthur!” she screeches, turning tail and running down the hallway.

After a beat, until both are sure they are alone, Merlin and Arthur stop kissing, Merlin leaning against the wall for balance after it all. He feels strangely light-headed, and his lips tingle curiously. Arthur takes a step back, enough to give Merlin personal space. He looks…shy, and a little reserved. Unapologetic yet hesitant, quite the opposite of Arthur on the battlefield.

“I’m...um, I’m sorry.” He begins. Merlin makes to cut him off, but Arthur continues, “I should have given you more time to give your consent before I jumped on you like that.”  
Merlin manages a small grin. Arthur, always the polite, respectful lover.

They silently make their way to Arthur’s room, where they spend the next hour playing chess on the rug in front of the fire. It seems that any potential awkwardness between them because of the kiss had dissipated, or had not even been there at all. Neither of them acknowledge it in any way, a fact that relieves and irritates Merlin simultaneously. He would have liked to know if Arthur had wanted to kiss him at all, if he got butterflies in his gut when he remembers it as well.

Around eleven or so, a little after it was assumed the last stragglers had left the feast, Gwaine entered the room. Merlin and Arthur look up from their board game, but before they can ask anything, the knight says,

“Lady Maria has spread some filthy rumors about you two, like you wouldn't believe. She claims she saw you two kissing in the hall, would you believe that?” he chuckles, then immediately stops when he sees the identical sheepish expressions on Merlin and Arthur’s faces. “You’re kidding me.” He says quietly, glancing back and forth between them. “You managed to keep it a secret for this long? Wow, I am truly impressed.” Indeed, it seemed that he had gotten over his brief incredulity, and had now accepted and digested it. Merlin feels only a light concern over the fact that the rambunctious knight didn't question their relationship at all.

“We’re not actually together, Gwaine.” Arthur points out, picking himself off of the floor. He pulls Merlin up, and they cross the room to where Gwaine stands. “We just pretended so that she would leave me alone.”

Gwaine nods in approval. “You might want to pretend again, she said that she would be visiting your room tonight, Arthur.”

It would have been comical, how quickly Arthur paled, if Merlin hadn’t been so simultaneously nervous and excited to pretend to be with Arthur again. It would mean a night of kissing and touching and maybe even more.

Gwaine bids them farewell for the night, clapping both on the shoulder and sending a significant glance between them. “Have a nice night, lovebirds!” he calls, with a small bow in Arthur’s direction. Merlin had assigned Gwaine to tell Gaius he likely wouldn’t come home that night, so there was no servant to hail or other knight to alert.

Merlin was then faced with filling the time until Lady Maria arrived at Arthur’s door. The sounds of the room, the crackling fire, the squeak of a mouse inside one of the cupboards, all seemed multiplied tenfold in the impending activity. Merlin busies himself with cleaning the table and its general vicinity, just as a time-filler. Arthur, meanwhile, begins packing away the chess set, carefully setting each intricately carved piece in the box. The set was a gift from a visiting noble years ago, when Merlin had just become Arthur’s manservant. Unlike most gifts he received from those who did not know him, Arthur was intrigued and interested in the set. He had pleaded Geoffrey (the archivist) to teach him, which he did. Arthur, in turn, taught Merlin, and the two had had many long games over the course of their years together.

Merlin casts his eyes about the room, but there is nothing to clean or pick up, nothing to straighten or busy himself with. Just Arthur. Who, at present, is staring straight at Merlin. “Merlin” he suggests, moving closer, “what if she didn't find us just kissing, what if she found us lying in bed together?”

The logical part of Merlin has control of his body and nods, while the emotional part is busy hyperventilating.

Without further debate, Arthur removes his shirt, pale torso gleaming in the combination of moonlight from the window and firelight from the fire. He tosses his shirt on the floor, then removes his pants and tosses those closer to the bed. Merlin does the same, knocking over his boots. All in all, it looks like they made a desperate struggle through their clothes from the door to the bed. Merlin hopes it will convince Lady Maria.

He shivers as his skin is exposed to the air, and quickly climbs into bed next to Arthur.

The space between them could be a thousand leagues, for how easy it looks to cross it.

He turns, and sees that Arthur is on his stomach, arms crossed on top of his pillow. The prince is staring right at Merlin, who feels like squirming under his gaze. “Can you do me a favor, Merlin?” he asks quietly.

Merlin nods in agreement. He doesn’t even know what the favor is, but he knows he’ll do it, no matter what it is. He would laugh at how much he is willing to do for Arthur, his prince, but then the seriousness of the situation kicks in, and Merlin realizes that he would die for him. In all honesty he realizes that he would be happy to burn on the funeral pyre if it means Arthur would be safe.

“Anything.” Merlin whispers. “I would do anything for you, Arthur Pendragon.” Merlin can feel the magic inside of him humming, his destiny looming up in front of him. It hears this admittance, and it will do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

Arthur asks quietly, humbled by the admittance, “Can you tell me about Ealdor? The way you talk about places, it makes them seem more than real, like it’s one of the last truly special places on earth.”

Merlin smiles, happy to share memories of his childhood home with his prince. He looks to the roof of Arthur’s canopy, and begins telling him about springtime. The way the flowers bob in the mountain wind, the way the rains wash away any hard feelings of winter. He tells him about planting, how the soil is cool and soft beneath your fingers, how the budding crops feel like a promise.

Arthur doesn't interrupt or pause to ask questions, instead, he listens with quiet, honest interest, and simply smiles and pulls Merlin closer when the manservant tires of talking, drifting off to sleep.

When Maria enters the room an hour later, both are asleep. Arthur’s arms encircle Merlin, as if protecting him from some outside attack. Within the circle of his arms, Merlin is safe.

His head rests on Arthur’s chest, hands curled innocently in the fabric of the covers.

Even Maria’s cold heart is warmed at the sight of such true love. She leaves with a lump in her throat and wishes for the best for the unlikely relationship between them.

I

 

Hot kisses and wanting hands, grabbing possessively at any exposed flesh.

_Finally._

One too many nights sleeping alone, leading to quiet confessions, responding kisses, and now, even more than that.

 _Finally._ It is all Merlin can think, the only coherent thought in his mind. As Arthur moves above him, leaving a trail of marks in his wake, all Merlin can comprehend is joy and relief.

_Finally._

Arthur enters him, and Merlin gasps, fingers clutching the soft fabric of his sheets.

 _Finally_. It is a litany, a poem, a confession, an exclamation; it is everything, captured within the boundaries of seven letters.

_Finally._

They lie, exhausted and naked, in the loose comfort of the others arms. Merlin falls asleep with a smile on his face.

_Finally._

In the morning, Arthur is late to breakfast with his father. The king subsequently sends Sir Leon to fetch them, who comes upon this charming and intimate scene. He exits with a grin, a lie about Arthur catching that cold on his tongue, but in his mind, all he thinks is,

_Took them long enough._


End file.
